23/04/20

Rolfe Bridge forgetmenots small and some pink

Rain swallowed by the New Main Line

Angler cluster wires out

Heron with prophetic beard goes over

I missed Cemetery Road had to

circle back

past the church

And then the empty new houses and

empty new houses

The road’s elevation

Everything other than here

Revival

On a barge in the dark the temporary vicar directs prayers

invented fervours

arch parole in egg light

THE SHIVERS says Jesus is giving the shakes

I don't feel a thing
but want to be in it

Outside the cold hasn't come so
the obscene green leaves creak

A broken panel above
the worn blue nylon
through to yellowed gloss

040120

Your limp
at angles

Pavement writ
with audio tape

He makes the crayons
move a certain way

There is no rain
but looks like rain

Her lips
a sugar crust

What would you say
if you said it?

The model shop contracts

The barber looks at his hands
and you look up
to eye the nothing much

A Letter

dearest,
never a more together enough
dying cartoon flags with
grease sheen patches
and love      and range
arms a swinging all about the Star City ghost stone floor
situated fibres gleam reweeding hung from struts
trees in considered boredom off and on
thinking on the deaths of ariadne
and the weather's sameness will write us out soon (a hope)
yours,

I guess the rain

In Angleland
where pavement clings
go hug yourself

Three trees are difficult:
mixed meters

familiar rodent grin at the PO
plainness glaze     
fuckpig lines

wall face got up
wall face

The girl shrank back

Glass bled and whispered, "Not long now".

Shape Moves

Face-to red flowers below the eyes

       This fine crow trod a square to fit

lambent feels

  Thin lizard of autumn coils at feet

           and you held your breath still

        then couldn’t say

   A danced round with a pivot

        plumb dropt from who knows where

All the wrecked boom patterns in the dark

Working the Plot

                       Breathe out a helix

        a splintered mirror with mare's tail fingering              stones

     and the stones put together in happened fields

              against figures        painted with cold

          rich children laughing behind the orchards

             You blew out a bubble

                              and it hung on a split lip

     Ivy weaving
     all along
     where I do dig

         "I remember

                        that tiny heart going at it".